


a second chance

by onlyeverthus



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 09:02:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4619457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyeverthus/pseuds/onlyeverthus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years into their relationship, Clara has a surprise of her own for her John. (Sequel to "are you going to surprise me today?")</p>
            </blockquote>





	a second chance

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to [are you going to surprise me today?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4606758); apparently that fic was too fluffy, so now you get an angsty follow-up.

"John, shut up," Clara says wearily from where she's curled up on the couch.

He freezes midsentence, his eyebrows knitting together as he looks at her. He's in the middle of some lecture about something from history, the blackboard on the wall covered with chalk scribbles and a diagram of... something, but Clara hasn't been listening. She's tired and preoccupied, and he straightens, bringing his hands in front of him, his stance almost prim.

"Something wrong?" he asks, fiddling with the piece of chalk in his fingers.

"Yes. No." She pushes to her feet and starts pacing in front of the couch. "I don't know. I guess that depends on how you see it."

"How I see what?"

She paces a moment longer, absently scratching the side of her head, and then stops abruptly, her hands on her hips as she turns to face him.

"I'm pregnant, John."

He stares at her for a long moment, and then his hands fall to his sides as he raises his eyebrows. "Well, how did that happen?"

Clara stares at him incredulously. "Really?"

"No, I don't mean –" He presses his lips together and closes his eyes briefly. "I know _how_ it happened, I just mean – how?"

"And again I say, _really_?" Clara fixes him with a hard stare. "Who can't keep his hands off of me when I come to visit him on campus, and who doesn't keep condoms in his office? Even though I keep _reminding_ you to do that? You _know_ I can't take birth control."

"Well, you could bring them too!" John exclaims, flapping a hand at her.

"I will accept half of the responsibility for this," Clara replies evenly, folding her arms over her chest, "but _only_ half. It takes two to make a baby, John. I didn't do this to myself."

"Okay, well, what are you going to do about it?"

Clara's eyes widen. "Excuse me? What the hell do you mean by that?"

"I'm a teacher, Clara, and you're a waitress in a bloody _diner_. How are we going to support a baby?"

"People do it every day. Rose and her John are doing it just fine. But whatever, John." Clara shakes her head and snatches her purse and coat from the couch. "Do what you want. I'm going home, since a pregnant waitress who works in a bloody _diner_ is no longer good enough for you."

"Clara –" he starts, spinning as she stalks past him. "Clara, that's not what –"

She doesn't hear the rest as she storms from the house, the door slamming behind her.

When she gets home a short while later, she slams that door too and flings her coat and purse onto the couch. She's so angry she's trembling, tears in her eyes that spill over when she blinks, and she takes a gasping breath as she leans against the wall.

After two years together, she knows what he's like. Obsessive when it comes to his work, and cold, callous, and sometimes downright mean when it comes to other people, though not usually so much with her. Usually with her, he's a little absent-minded, occasionally late to dinner or dates, and always apologetic and contrite when he finally shows up. With her, he's sweet in his own way, attentive and loving, but tonight was the side of him that she doesn't like, the cold, dismissive side. The hurtful side.

Her chin quivers as she tips her head back, closing her eyes and sending more tears rolling down her cheeks. She'd figured he wouldn't necessarily take the news well, but she hadn't expected this, hadn't expected him to practically outright tell her to get rid of her baby. _Their_ baby.

Sniffling loudly, she looks down at her stomach and presses her hands to it, imagines the baby growing inside of her, no bigger than a microscopic bundle of cells at this point. She already loves it, and her heart aches as she turns and shuffles into her bathroom, wishing he loved it too.

 

 

"So, what, he wants you to get rid of it?" Rose asks in a hushed tone the next morning as she and Clara are getting ready to open the diner.

"I don't know what he wants," Clara says, eyes on the sugar container she's refilling. She sets it down with a hard thud when it's full, and takes a breath. "And I don't really care. If he doesn't want to be involved with me, or – or his baby, then that's – that's fine."

"Clara, it's not fine," Rose murmurs, her eyebrows knitting together when she sees the tears in Clara's eyes.

"I want to keep the baby," Clara says, sniffling hard. "But I don't want to lose him. I mean, he's an arse a lot of the time, utterly impossible to deal with sometimes, but I love him."

"I know," Rose whispers.

Clara shakes her head, sniffling again as she looks at Rose. "I don't want to do this by myself."

Rose pulls Clara into a hug, holding her tightly as she cries. "No matter what happens with John, you're not going to do this by yourself. You've got me, and my John, right?" Clara nods, clinging to Rose, and Rose rubs her hand over Clara's back. "Everything's going to be all right."

Clara nods again as she pulls back, and Rose lifts her hands to sweep her thumbs over Clara's cheeks.

"Don't give up on him yet. Maybe he just needs to get used to the idea. He might be an arse, but I know he loves you."

Clara nods once more, and takes a deep breath as she moves to grab her purse from under the counter, excusing herself to the bathroom to regain her composure and touch up her makeup.

 

 

Clara and John don't see each other over the next week. When he comes in for lunch at his usual time, she has Rose take the order, and avoids looking at him, even though she can feel his eyes on her as she serves the rest of her tables.

John misses her more than he can say, but he's having trouble wrapping his mind around this whole situation, and early Saturday morning, he gets on a train to Glasgow.

It's a grey, rainy day, and he almost smiles when he gets off the train.

Nothing quite like coming home.

He walks to the cemetery, wanting to feel the rain, and the chill, and the guilt that rests heavy on his shoulders, not just guilt over Clara, but guilt that's stayed with him for 30 years.

The cemetery gate squeaks as he pushes it open, and he starts up the path, gravel crunching under his boots. It's a short walk to a small headstone, a small grave for a short life, and he stands there, feeling too big.

He never knows what to say when he comes here, and really, what can he say that will make up for the life he was supposed to protect? The life that was lost when he turned his back for only a few seconds?

Tears sting his eyes, and he lifts his hands to his face, knowing what he has to do, and knowing how much it's going to hurt. But his relationship with Clara is too important, and he loves her too much, to lose her over this.

Swallowing hard, he lets his hands fall and takes a deep breath, lifting his gaze to the sky, and then brings one hand to his mouth, touching his fingers to his lips. He lowers his hand to the headstone, pressing his fingers to the top of it, and lingers for a long moment before turning and heading back down the path to the gate.

 

 

It's late afternoon when he returns to London, and he calls Clara, asking her to please come over so they can talk. She agrees with only a hint of reluctance, and he hopes this will work, that it'll be enough to make her understand how he feels.

She lets herself in with her key, and finds him in his study, staring pensively at a picture frame in his hands.

"Hey," she says as she walks over to him.

"Hey," he replies, his lips curved in a vague smile as he watches her approach.

"What's that?" she asks, gesturing at the frame as she sinks down beside him.

"It's my son," he says, passing it to her.

"Your son?" she echoes in surprise, glancing at him as she takes the frame.

"His name was Calum."

Clara stares at the picture of the little dark-haired boy, and then lifts her gaze to John again. "Was?" she repeats softly.

"He died," John says, swallowing hard as he clasps his hands together. "When he was three. Drowned in a river that ran behind our house in Glasgow. I was supposed to be watching him, and I – I turned my back for just a few seconds, just long enough for him to take off running, and I couldn't get to him in time."

Clara looks down at the picture again, and then back up at John when he pushes to stand.

"My wife left me not long after. Not because she blamed me – or at least that's what she said – but because I couldn't stop blaming myself. I shut her out, withdrew completely into myself, and my work, and one day, she was just gone."

Clara shakes her head. "Why didn't you tell me about this?"

"Because it _hurts too much_ , Clara. To think about how I failed, as a father, as a husband." His eyes are wide and a little too bright, and he shakes his head. "It's not that I don't think we can afford a baby, I know we can, I'm just afraid that I'm going to screw up again. That something will happen because of me, that I'll lose our child, and I'll lose you."

Clara shakes her head as she leans forward to set the picture on the coffee table. "John, what happened to your son wasn't your fault."

"He was _my responsibility_ , Clara," John says, staring at her in disbelief. "He was my _son_! If it's not my fault, then whose bloody fault is it?"

"Nobody's!" Clara exclaims, jumping to her feet. "Sometimes these things just happen. It's terrible what happened to your son, and I am so sorry for that, but it's not your fault. You got dealt a horrible hand, but maybe now it's time for a new one. A second chance with me, and our baby. Neither of us is in this alone."

John nods, flexing his fingers at his sides as he takes a breath. "I didn't ask you here to fight, I asked you here to I could explain things, and apologize. I'm sorry –"

"I know." Clara moves to stand in front of him, lifting her hands to his face. "I know, and I get it now. But this –" She reaches for his hand and presses it to her stomach, looking up at him again to see his mouth open slightly. "This is different. This is you and me. Us. And I really want – I really _need_ you with me."

John nods again, his eyes on his hand as his fingers press gently into her stomach. "I am. I'm here. You, me, and – and this one."

Clara smiles, the hand still on his cheek sliding to the back of his neck to pull him down for a kiss. He pulls her into a hug when the kiss breaks, holding her tightly, and she rests her cheek on his chest as she squeezes him, her smile widening.

"And I also wanted to ask," he says as they pull apart. "Now that we're about to expand our footprint here, what do you think about moving in with me?"

"You want me to?" Clara asks, smiling again at his hopeful expression.

"There's more space here than in your flat, and there's that room upstairs that would be perfect for the baby. And I'd really love to have you here all the time. You keep me a little more... honest when you're around."

Clara laughs softly, ducking her head, and nods when she looks up at him. "Yeah. I'll move in with you. I'm excited to live in the house with the bright blue door."

John grins broadly and takes her face in his hands as he kisses her again, his thumbs stroking her cheeks.

"I love you, Clara," he murmurs over her lips. "I need you to keep stopping me from being an idiot."

"I don't stop you from being an idiot," Clara replies, shaking her head. "I just make you realize you're being an idiot, and then make you feel bad about it."

"Same difference."

Clara giggles, and whispers, "I love you too," as she lifts her head for another kiss.

 

 

Bright midday sunshine streams through the windows of the upstairs bedroom, and John smiles down at the tiny blanket clad bundle in his arms as he rocks slowly back and forth.

Tiny hands, tiny nose, tiny ears, tiny toes. It's been so long, he forgot just how tiny babies are. She's got her mother's big brown eyes, and a head full of fine brown hair, and she's absolutely beautiful.

Tiny and beautiful, just like her mother.

Clara's asleep in their bedroom, and he took advantage of it to spend some time with his daughter, just a few days old. The baby shifts in his arms, her face scrunching momentarily, and his smile widens as he rubs his thumb over the back of her hand.

"I've got you, little one." He touches a soft kiss to her head. "I'm always going to have you. You and your mum are everything to me, and I'm never going to let you go."


End file.
